Sunday, May 9, 2010

Open Letter to a Grieving Mother

Dear Friend,

I heard you say your daughter has died, and you don't think you can go on.
I felt compelled to share with you some thoughts which may comfort you.
I'm sure it's not much of a consolation and that your grief is profound, but please try to remember:

She is completely in spirit form now, and still as available to you as ever.
She is probably around right now, trying to comfort you in some way - Look out for little signs she may be sending you. I may be someone she sent your way. Her heart is reaching out to comfort you, and those of us who are feeling, sensing people, reach out to comfort when we receive the signal.

She wouldn't want you to be in pain. Try to think about how you would want her to feel if it had been the other way around. Grieve, yes, but also celebrate her life every chance you can. Try to remember the very thin veil between the living and the so-called dead. We are not so separate after all.

My friend *Adala lost her daughter Harata years ago. I knew Harata. Adala had two daughters. One, Yalda, was severely developmentally challenged. The other, Harata, was very gifted and was just about to graduate from college. Politically astute, loving, and openly bisexual, she was poised to change the world. Then her SUV overturned and in an instant, her life was over, and her boyfriend, who was in the passenger seat, was devastated, but relatively unharmed.

I attended the memorial ceremony and later spent time with Adala and her ex-lover, and our friends. I dyed Adala's hair with nontoxic dye from Whole Foods. We made a delicious chai tea with cinnamon and vanilla beans in a huge pot that lasted forever and was very comforting, and listened to an endless reel of various artists singing devotional and classical music from India.
Adala was Bangladeshi, her ex-lover Palestinian, and I am Haitian.
The house was filled with love as Adala performed Reiki on me and talked me into feeling better about a recent bipolar diagnosis "Maybe you're just like that", she said - meaning just prolific and high energy, and occasionally sad. Not sick.

Anyway, it was a beautiful day, which I mention because Adala said, "My daughter has died. I don't think I can go on." That is the only time anyone has ever said that to me, and I read the same words on your page.

An angel has brought me today to say to you that you can go on, even if you don't feel like you can. You don't have to try to force it. Just take one baby step at a time - one small breath at a time. Look at the sun - stay in the sun. Call uplifting, encouraging friends. Remember the good times with your daughter, and talk to her. Talk to her all the time. Talk to her without ceasing. Ask her to communicate to you somehow, how you are to go on. Ask her to guide you. She will answer. In the bend of a leaf on a tree in the breeze - in the look of a cat's peaceful, mysterious eyes, in the sparkling chuckle of an infant. You will feel joy again. Let your daughter lead you to it.

In the meantime, know that I, and many others are praying for your well-being, and your healing.